


creation

by alanxna, clairelutra



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Character is Just Starting to Show, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanxna/pseuds/alanxna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairelutra/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: Against all odds, Daine ends up conceiving. Numair... likes that. He likes that a lot.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Veralidaine Sarrasri
Comments: 29
Kudos: 39
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	creation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



To think, just yesterday she'd been absolutely terrified of telling Numair she was pregnant, Daine mused wryly as her long-time lover and brand new fiance curled around her in what was soon to be their marriage bed.

In the twenty four hours since, Numair been hard pressed to even let her up to use the privy. Her stomach was going to become sore if he traced the slight swell any more. She was starting to worry he'd gotten a particularly potent dose of catnip—or whatever the human equivalent of it was—in his system for his dark eyes and how he seemed physically incapable of keeping his hands off of her.

She was probably going to start protesting his hovering in a bit, but right now all she wanted was sleep and loving touch, so this was working out just fine for her.

"If I'd known you would be _this_ happy, I would have told you sooner," she mumbled to the man whose face was buried in her neck and whose hand was laid over the new life he'd helped create.

It had taken her nearly three weeks to gather the courage to let him know he'd managed to put a baby in her despite all their precautions, haunted as she was by her early years of being nothing but her mother's bastard, but instead of leaving her—as she'd _known_ he wouldn't but simply hadn't been able to fully reassure herself of—he had crushed his mouth to hers and then begged her to marry him with tears in his eyes. Which, she had supposed, was about as firm a reassurance as she was going to get.

Having been thoroughly ravished multiple times in the past twenty four hours, she was forced to reevaluate.

"Is it really so wonderful?" she wondered as his thumb stroked the space below her bellybutton. "Knowing I've got a baby in me?"

He shuddered all over, and then she found herself pulled into another fervid kiss, one she melted into easy as breathing. "You're _amazing,"_ he rasped once he pulled away just enough to let them both come up for air. "You're so lovely and you're _mine._ You said yes. You—" He kissed her again, urgent yet as gentle as the tide lipping the beach below them, even as he trembled. Their fingers spread and interlocked on the pillow next to her shoulder. "You're going to be my _wife_. A mother. The mother of— _my_ children..." That was the point at which he seemed to lose grasp on his words. One more kiss that left her head spinning, and he laughed, his lovely dark eyes overbright. "You may find it dubious, just how long I've dreamed of this."

Well, she could understand that, a bit. Fitting Numair into the slot of 'husband and father' set something at ease in her she hadn't even realized was raw and upended, because it had been so her whole life. Coming to Tortall had given her a family of many, but now she was going to create one that was uniquely, solely, perfectly _hers,_ and she was going to do it with him.

When she thought about that, she felt a little teary herself.

"I'll lose my figure," she warned, smiling and resting her lips on the bridge of his long nose for a moment. "Before this is all though you'll likely think I've swallowed a whole planet."

She expected another laugh and a teasing reassurance, maybe a dismissal of her joking fears—not a choked groan and the notable twitch of his half-mast manhood against her hip before his mouth crashed into hers and pushed her deep into their pillows, frantic hands skimming her sides and shoving the hem of her just-donned shirt up to her armpits so he could trace the outline of her breasts and waist.

The kiss was ravenous, it and the cool evening air flirting with her oversensitive torso turning her lazy glow into the burn of desire, her quim wetting and heating for the umpteenth time this day.

When his lips left hers, it was so he could duck down and lay them on her sternum, covering her skin in butterfly kisses. He was gentle with her breasts, sore as they were from pregnancy and lovemaking both, only supporting their weight with his hands and brushing them with his lips, but even that left her spine tingling and her thighs clenching.

Following a faint thread of suspicion she could only just barely see through the arousal, she said, "And I-I'm going... to need new breast bands soon—" She inhaled sharply as his hands squeezed just a little too hard, but the pain let her finish on a relatively steady, wry tone, "—only three months and mine're already too tight."

He paused, swallowing, and then shifted his grip so he cupped both, measuring their volume in his hands, then let out a shuddering breath as he confirmed what her clothing had been telling her.

He let go of them slowly, making sure to let them rest before he drew away so they wouldn't pull painfully, then spread his hands over the bottom of her ribcage and continued his descent, kissing down her solar plexus and her stomach proper—which sent her tumbling into, "Goddess, none of my clothes will fit soon, will they? Babies take up much more room than my tunics have to give."

The followup thought to that was, _I wonder if Alanna has any of her old ones to spare,_ but Numair stiffened and shifted, pressing his face against her belly and burning blush bright, and that suspicion trickled back in.

"And you, Master Salmalín," she continued, arch and a bit thrilled. "Are you going to take responsibility for my wardrobe as well, or shall you keep me bare in your bed, just to save coin?"

"Ah," he croaked, an odd expression crossing what she could see of his face while his breathing stuttered. Then he looked up at her and flushed embarrassment-deep. "You tease me."

She grinned, and he flushed darker, hiding his face in her stomach again.

"We'll..." He inhaled slowly, shakily, and squeezed her hips. "Tailor. Market. Next time. Or you'll be cold."

Daine melted. Dropping her right hand to his hair, she carded through the coal-black locks, still soft despite the week he'd ignored his regime. "They'll want to know about the ring," she mused, watching his reactions carefully. "They'll scold me for making you wait so long, I'm sure. And they'll be right, too." She let that sit for a moment, soothing his hairline, then swallowed. Eight years of turning down his proposals was no small thing. "Thank you. Thank you for waiting."

His lips laid on her stomach, hands stroking her sides with tender reverence, and when he looked up, the warmth and adoration in his eyes nearly undid her. "I'll wait however long you need, I swear it."

She blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging, pushing down the sudden lump in her throat. Then she dropped her head back onto the pillows, caught the hand on her left side with her own free hand, knitted their fingers together, and moved them squarely over her growing bulge, so the engagement ring he'd given her was right under his nose. "So," she said cheerfully, if roughly, "about six months, then."

He twitched.

"Though I suppose we'll need to have the ceremony before then, if I'm not to deliver our child out of wedlock," she continued, grinning again as she felt his breath hitch and stutter. "And soon, too, unless you'd like to feel the little one kicking through my wedding gown."

 _"Daine,"_ he said, strained and shifting again in a manner that suggested he very much _would_ like that, actually.

"That would make our wedding night rather difficult," she said, entirely disregarding the plea in his voice. "By the time the baby has grown big enough to kick, there won't be much room inside me for anything else." Much less anything as big as Numair's cock. Even entirely unburdened and incredibly aroused, she still had trouble sometimes.

He had started to pant, his strong, broad shoulders rising and falling at a rapid pace as he nuzzled down her stomach. Tightening his fingers around hers, he brought them both to his mouth so he could kiss the ring, then disentangled them so he could trace the crease of her thigh from hip to mound and pull her thighs apart.

She angled her hips so she could throw her legs over his shoulders and offer herself to him, tingles of anticipation and want taking her over with the promise of his mouth on her.

"You'd have to..." she started, then moaned under her breath as he pressed his lips to the thickest part of the swell, under her bellybutton, and tightened her grip in his hair. She felt herself clench as he followed the slope down further to the sensitive space above her mound, grasping at the tail end of what she'd been about to say with difficulty. "You'll have to do with this, putting your mouth on me— _oh_...—u-using your... fingers..." Two of those fingers found her thoroughly stretched entrance and slid inside with ease, feeling about for her sweet spot and finding it in short order. "'M af-fraid nothin- _g!_ else of yours wi-i-ill _fit_...!"

He'd brought her over the edge so many times in the past twenty four hours that she trembled at his very breath on her wet folds, fast and harsh as it was, and felt herself leak arousal at the sheer _ardor_ in his eyes—wild and helpless and so very, very heated.

Gutted and winded and burning, she breathed, "Oh, _Numair_..."

Never once breaking eye contact, he lowered his mouth to her overwrought flesh and lapped.

She didn't know how long she lost to the soft kitten licks and infinitely gentle suckling, soothed and supported and intensified by the much firmer massage he was giving her on the inside, only that it was long enough for her to wail herself hoarse, losing _herself_ in the way he kept her flirting with the edge of an orgasm for ever and ever and ever and ever...

He shattered her world like that twice before she had to half-laugh, half-sob, "Merc-y, oh _mercy,_ Numair, Numair, _Numair_..."

He had mercy.

Sliding his fingers free, he raised his head and let it drop onto her abdomen, his ear to her hipbone and his pants disturbing the patch of curls below his chin. It was hard to see from her angle, but she heard the telltale shift of him dropping his hand to stroke himself.

She listened to the shuffle for a long moment, just enjoying the knowledge that he was finding his own pleasure, then found herself breathing a breathless laugh.

He tilted his head back to look at her, and she finger-combed his hair back from her eyes so he could.

"I'm going to be a Ma," she told him, a silly grin on her face. With her free hand, she cradled the place where the child was already growing inside her. "And that, my love, is _entirely_ your fault."

His eyes went wide, and she could feel the effect her words had on him, the way he stilled and shuddered, muscles clenching all in a wave—and then he exhaled like it had been punched out of him and curled in on himself, the shifting of his hand speeding up for a few harsh strokes. She counted up to nine before he clenched harder and came with a choked, broken noise. It was the first time in the past day that he hadn't finished off while held in the circle of her arms, buried as deep inside her as they could get him.

She stroked his hair as he came down trembling, tracing the shell of his ear and caressing his cheek, and only stopped once his breathing had long stabilized and he weakly pushed himself up to rest beside her again.

They lay together in silence for a while, just breathing, only moving to pull Daine's shirt back over her sweat-glossed body and nest together in blankets, and Daine was just wondering whether to let herself slip into the drowse her body was asking for when Numair spoke.

"Do you... think you'll ever regret it? This?" he asked haltingly, uncharacteristically raw and vulnerable. His hand wasn't on her stomach anymore, but laying beside it, like he was afraid to touch.

Daine blinked. It was unlike him to pose such a serious question when he knew the only answer she would give was reassurance. He must have needed it more than she realized.

She turned into him so her head was tucked under his chin and she could tangle their legs together. In interest of being truthful, she said, "If helping my Ma taught me anything, there'll be a few hours at the end where I'll curse your name and wish _you_ had never been born." She smiled at the marginally steadier laugh that earned. "But no, I don't think so. After that, I'll have my babe in my arms and suckling away, and I may well beg you for another."

His breathing stopped, his heart thudding hard enough that she could feel it through her palms.

"Well," she had to concede, even as she filed that reaction away, "perhaps not so soon after labor. After that, though, once my body has decided what shape it wants to stay in and the child will let us sleep through the night. _Then_ I shall be thinking of more."

He exhaled shakily, and then swallowed. His pulse still raced. "Right."

She drew back enough to look him in the eye, affecting innocent curiosity and getting immediate suspicion for her trouble. "And you?" she asked anyway. "Will you also be thinking of putting another little one in me, or shall I have to beg?"

He had never once made her beg for a thing in her life and was unlikely to start now, but he blushed scarlet under his tan at the question, eyes darkening and mouth caught in something that both did and didn't want to be a grin.

She pushed at his shoulder to get him to lie back against the pillows, then raised herself onto all fours over him, unable to stop a grin of her own. The evening air was a shock to her nethers, but she didn't mind. "Oh, Numair, please?" she breathed, and thrilled at the way that awkward expression intensified. "I love you so much, and you're always so good to me... Won't you take me to bed and _fuck_ me—" His lips parted at that, exhaling sharply. "—again and again and _again_ until—"

 _"Stop_ —" he croaked, starting to pant again, half-laughing himself. "Magelet, have _mercy."_ He looked at her then—her radiant grin, her gleeful delight—and made a soft noise in the back of his throat, so adoring it hurt.

She dropped her forehead above his, just shy of touching. Holding his eye, she let the smile play on her lips as she continued, "—again and again until there's another child growing heavy in my womb—" Up this close, she could see his pupils dilate. "—and then another, and another..." He swallowed heavily, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "How many shall we have? Three? Four?" She giggled, breathless, drunk as much off the fantasy as his reaction to it. "I don't think I should like to wrangle more'n four, but—"

"We won't make it to _two_ if you keep talking," he said, strangled. She was certain she'd never seen him blush quite so hard. _"Mithros,_ I'm getting too old for this."

Normally she would have teased him for saying it when he wasn't even forty yet, but this time she shifted her weight and grabbed his wrist, turning it at an awkward angle for the sake of pressing his palm against her pregnant belly, where he had sparked a life inside her against all odds. Looking at him through her eyelashes, she smirked. "Are you sure about that?"

His throat crackled. His wide eyes fixed on her mouth for several seconds, then fell to where her breasts hung behind the gaping neckline of her shirt to where his hand scrunched up the fabric, the folds blanketing his wrist and his warm fingers on bare skin, and he let out a shaky breath.

Then he inhaled long and slow, covered her mouth with his free hand, and firmly toppled her to her side of the bed, sending her into the pillows and blankets with a luxurious _fwumph._ Daine went laughing.

 _"Enough,"_ he said over her mirth. He sat up in a crouch and rubbed his face for a moment, then glanced at her, his slight smile entirely besotted. She met him with a besotted look of her own.

"I love you," she reminded him. It always felt a little silly to say—like she was reminding him that the sky was blue or that cats had fur—but it always affected him deeply to hear it, so she tried to say it whenever she remembered.

His expression softened even further. He reached out and brushed a curl off her cheek, then opened his mouth to say something, only to pause at the growl of her stomach.

There was probably something she could say here about the baby being hungry, or that she was eating for two now, but she held her tongue. He'd said 'enough' and meant it. There would be time for more teasing later.

He straightened then, making to get up with a notable amount of discomfort, and she instantly felt guilty.

"Ah," she said, "don't worry about it, I can—"

"Stay," he said firmly, touching her shoulder. He smiled faintly. "I'll bring you something. Any preferences?"

She receded. "Fruit. Bread." She yawned as the drowsiness crept back in. "Cheese?"

He gave her a look, like he knew she'd picked those for ease alone, and she smiled guilelessly. She _did_ want them, even if they weren't what she would have picked if they hadn't both been raw and exhausted from the lovemaking.

"Of course," was all he said, and then he squeezed her hand, pulling on his robe as he got up and walked somewhat awkwardly out the door.

Daine dropped back into the bed, cradling her stomach and thinking distantly of nurseries and milk pads and secondborns, and then let herself sink into a doze.

**Author's Note:**

> We're agreed that Daine's first pregnancy was smooth sailing and involved no compulsory shapeshifting of any sort, at any rate, yes? Good.


End file.
